


In a Manner of Speaking

by OctoberSpirit



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: And Cecil Never Remembers that Carlos Listens to the Radio, Boyfriends, Brief Appearances by Khoshekh and Intern Vithia, Carlos is a Dork, Carlos is a Nerd, Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil is a Dork, Dorks in Love, Episode references, Episode: e018 The Traveler, Episode: e030 Dana, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Recorded Broadcasts, Tattooed Cecil, The Enchilada, They are Dorks Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSpirit/pseuds/OctoberSpirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just one of those comments Cecil makes on the radio. Kind of personal, kind of embarrassing, ultimately harmless. Except that Carlos is listening. Carlos always listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Manner of Speaking

Cecil stretches and removes his headphones, his spine unleashing a series of _pops_ as he works his way out of the spinny desk-chair. Intern Vithya ducks into the booth to collect his coffee mug; they exchange pleasant goodnights while Cecil stoops, tugging his jacket and messenger bag free of the growling desk. He stops to scratch Khoshekh beneath the chin on his way out, and then he is free, breathing in the chill night air of their sleepy desert town.

He’s surprised, albeit pleasantly, to find Carlos in the parking lot.

“Hi, Cecil,” says Carlos.

Cecil beams. “Hi! I thought you were busy with science tonight?”

“I’m…taking a break.” Carlos unfolds his arms to adjust his glasses, then folds them again, half-leaning on his coupe. “We caught your broadcast today. Any word on Dana?”

“Not since that last voicemail, I’m afraid. I keep trying to call her, but my phone started wailing. So, you know, I’m sure she’s fine.” Cecil pauses at the curb, adjusting his bag. “How long is your break? Do you maybe want to get dinner?”

Carlos makes an interesting face, sort of pouty and purse-lipped, his eyebrows arching down. “That depends,” he says. His voice gives off conflicting signals—the hunter’s glee at a successful trap set, a flare of embarrassment, a tremor of irritation—all half-melted in tones of smooth caramel.

Cecil’s head tilts. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” says Carlos. “It depends. On, what was it, my…‘penchant for sometimes chewing a little more _loudly_ than is preferred?’”

For a moment, the parking lot is quiet, backed only by the buzz of tiny, gnawing insects. Cecil drops his gaze, his tattoos squirming, a faint violet flush creeping up his neck. “O-oh,” he says again, although the tone has shifted significantly. “I didn’t…think…”

“Didn’t think I’d hear that?”

“Well, I mean… Yes?”

“Cecil, you broadcast to the _entire town_.” 

Cecil wrings his hands, cringing. Is this their first fight? They’re moving so fast, in the wrong direction. “I’m just speaking to my listeners! I never think of you as a listener.” His voice drops, nearing Radio pitch. “You’re _Carlos_. It’s _different_.” 

Exasperated, Carlos leans off the car, both hands tangling in his (perfect) hair. “Don’t use the Voice to say my name. You told the whole _town_ that I _chew too loudly_.”

“It’s endearing?” Cecil tries. “You have human flaws. It grounds the relationship, that I notice?” His ears color slightly; they’re in a _relationship_. Cecil and Carlos. Cecilcarlos. Cecilos?

That has a nice ring. He’s submitting that to the Daily Journal; they’ve been trying so hard to make a name stick.

“Human flaws, huh?” Carlos is saying. He’s started pacing back and forth, truncated strides between his car and the next. His hair is tousled, messily gorgeous. There are little green spots on his lab coat’s left sleeve. “Let’s talk about some human flaws. Did you know, by the way, I record all your shows?”

“You do?” Cecil’s heart metaphorically leaps, realistically beats a little bit faster. His tattoos’ movements switch from anxious to pleased. 

“For analysis,” Carlos clarifies. His face reddens, eyes darting. “And for…background noise. I like hearing you talk.” The last sentence is almost too quiet to catch, but Cecil manages, his smile almost painful. Carlos’ skin darkens yet another shade. “That isn’t the point! I just, I record them.”

Cecil purrs. “Go on.”

From an inner pocket of the lab coat, Carlos produces his battered blue phone, with its Starfleet insignia nearly scratched off the case. The motion somehow steadies his nerves, returning the predatory glint to his eyes. “Before you start cataloging human flaws, I’d like to remind you of this little moment.”

He taps the screen. Cecil’s Voice wraps around them.

“I am looking at a photograph of the wedding in the newspaper at this very moment,” says iPhone-Cecil. “Now, I am drinking something.” Slurping occurs; the real Cecil winces. “Now…I am eating an enchilada”—very clearly, he is, mouth full, words jumbling—“that was just handed to me.”

Carlos taps the screen again. Silence resumes, save for the tiny, gnawing insects.

Cecil rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet as his eyes examine the asphalt below them.

“Well?” demands Carlos. “Who’s the loud chewer now?”

Cecil makes a quiet sound, oddly high and inexplicably pleased. When he glances up, his eyes are sparkling. “Both of us, huh? Aren’t we adorable?”

“That isn’t the point,” Carlos sputters. He throws his hands up, phone waving, for emphasis. “You were _crunching_ that thing like you had Librarian jaws—”

“How long did it take you to find that clip?”

Silence again. It’s becoming familiar. 

“Do you have my broadcasts _memorized_ , Carlos?”

“I never said—of course I don’t!”

“Can I see your phone? I’d like to know the play count.”

“Absolutely not.” Carlos stuffs it in his pocket. He seems alarmed at how the tables have turned. “This is not about me; it’s about you sharing our personal details on the _radio_.” 

“I think you’re right about dinner. We really can’t be trusted in public.”

“Cecil, I swear—”

“We could go back to my place.”

Even the silence holds its breath, the tiny, gnawing insects shamelessly eavesdropping. Carlos fumbles himself, tripping into his car. “…Fine. Fine, we can go to your place. But only so you can give me a proper apology.”

Cecil’s smile contains something undoubtedly sharp. “Of course, my lovely Carlos,” he says, his Radio Voice in sudden full force.

It is fate, perhaps, that such an apology is generally accompanied by opportunity. After all, Cecil muses, it is so much simpler to borrow a phone from a pair of temporarily unoccupied jeans.

**Author's Note:**

> One of the most hilarious things Cecil has ever done is flat-out eat an enchilada on the air. So I find it kind of hilarious that he has anything to say about Carlos chewing loudly. Which I mentioned on tumblr. And then inspiration struck.
> 
> They are perfect dorks and they make me laugh. XD
> 
> I'm on teh tumblrs at http://octoberspirit.tumblr.com/ if you want to tumbl with me.


End file.
